The Hatred of a Minute
by WhosSeenJezebel
Summary: She wasn't going to ask for forgiveness or permission. That would have meant that she was leaving the decision up to someone else. (Takes place a few months after 'A Confession of Pain').
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First off, please allow me to apologize for the radio silence over the past couple of months.** _ **Apparently**_ **planning a wedding isn't the walk in the park I thought it would be! I have been up to my ears in portfolios filled with options that I thought I would never care about. But suddenly I guess I need to start caring about how many different types of roses there are and how to make decoupage look elegant.**

 **So yes. I have been taking a small break from posting (even though I have about nine or ten half-written chapters for the incomplete stories on my page). I will update** _ **Sticks and Stones**_ **and** _ **The Third**_ **in August [hopefully] after the wedding and honeymoon. I SWEAR! I almost want to finish writing them out before I resume posting chapters, just because I'd hate to leave people hanging again.**

 **Anyway! I started writing this sucker right after I finished** _ **A Confession of Pain**_ **, but I wanted to hold off on posting it because I wanted to give people a break from that particular storyline. But what the hell! I enjoy writing Molly's story and it relaxed me to add to the ramblings already started in these two chapters.**

 **That being said, I really hope you guys like this! It's a part of the Molly-verse, so you might want to read** _ **Flynn**_ **and** _ **Confession**_ **prior to reading this. I do don't think you'd be TOTALLY lost if you skipped them, but it would definitely make it easier to follow this story.**

 **Have a great weekend and thank you for reading!**

 **/\\\\\**

Frozen fingers clung to the wooden handle of her weapon.

 _"The journeyman's mallet."_ Caleb had called it. _"It's better when working in smaller spaces."_

The carpenter went on, pointing out which pieces of furniture in the Ambassador's home had benefited from the small tool-the step stool in the pantry, the side table just inside the foyer, the faux taxidermy animal heads lining the wall of the study, and so forth. He probably named at least ten other examples, but she had learned to tune to old man out weeks prior.

Now, this tiny mallet with flat brass head was nothing more than a blunt instrument that would obliterate the skull of the filthy excuse of a man pacing the floor beneath her.

Hay and dust lined the floor of the barn's loft, but it didn't faze her. She had once crouched in a bin of pig and cow innards for three hours while waiting to take out a butcher on the Upper Eastside. A little dirt wasn't going to impede her focus.

Rain began to beat against the tin roof overhead, muffling his heavy pants.

Out of breath from the chase, he was struggling to remain upright. Even in the dark, she could see him crouching over and grabbing his knees. He wasn't as great as he thought. He wasn't as strong as he thought. He wasn't as terrifying as he thought.

Here was the creature-the pathetic creature-who had terrorized an entire community for nearly a year; killing those who were vulnerable and weak.

Children were warned of him as they went to bed. They locked their windows and checked their closets repeatedly before finally resting their heads. Curfew for all ages was at nine every night and no one argued-not even the most rebellious of teenagers. Sweet old church ladies and housewives ruined their gorgeous décor by placing metal bars on their windows and gaudy alarm systems in the front hallways. The single entrance to the main road was now gated with guards on round the clock duty.

A Mayberry'esque town was turned into Fort Knox because of this weasel. This sniveling little man who couldn't even run a mile without choking back vomit. She would make sure to give the Editor-in-Chief at the local paper precise details of the killer's dastardly demeanor just before his demise.

With that thought, she decided it was time.

Reaching up with her free hand, the one with a damn nail sticking through it, she grasped onto the splintered railing and pushed herself onto her feet.

She had forgotten about her broken nose but was quickly reminded when she sharply inhaled, attempting to clear some runniness caused by the cool weather. As soon as she sniffled, blood poured down her throat and into her mouth.

Despite her best efforts, she coughed and sputtered at the coppery taste and thick mucus clogging her windpipe.

Her target looked up at the pathetic sounds and she rolled her watery eyes.

 _So much for sneaking up on him._ She groused internally.

With a sigh, she moved out of the shadows so that he could at least see her silhouette. If she wasn't going to have the element of surprise, she may as well enjoy seeing the fear in his eyes before she ended him.

"Good evening." She smiled. Blood dripped past her lips and onto her teeth; she wasn't going to bother wiping it away at this point. There was about to be more...so much more...gore added to her face, so it was better to clean it all off at one time. It was always easier that way.

Climbing up onto the top of the railing, she prayed that it wouldn't give way under her weight. That would be embarrassing. Her knee was beginning to register the pain of the bullet embedded in it, but she didn't pay it any mind.

Without another thought, she lifted her weapon and pounced.

 **/\\\\\**

 **Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**"Evil is unspectacular and always human. And shares our bed and eats at our own table."**_

 **-W.H. Auden**

Five cards were spread before her, all adorned with lovely red diamonds.

Elizabeth Prentiss admired them as though they were a prized gilt that had just won the blue ribbon at the county fair. She announced, "Flush." With a pert smile and tapped a manicured fingernail against the bottom corner of each card. "Let's see it, Tex."

On the other side of the table, Molly blinked slowly before lifting her eyes to glare at the Ambassador. She knew where she stood now, so she took her dear sweet time in revealing her hand. It irritated Elizabeth when one did not act with the utmost velocity. Stretching, the redhead let out a dramatic groan and leaned back in her chair. She pretended to take interest in the hummingbirds flitting about the garden just outside of the solarium window.

"My, my, my. The hyacinths seem to be in bloom rather early this year." She said with a fake southern drawl. "Aren't they pretty?"

"Those are hydrangeas." Elizabeth didn't even need to look away from her opponent to know that she was wrong. "Now, stop stalling."

Feigning innocence, Molly placed a hand to her chest. "Why would I want to stall? What when I have this _gorgeous_..." She set down her cards with a flourish, "royal family to present." An Ace, King, Queen, Jack, and Ten of clubs were placed in order on her side of the table.

Wrinkling her nose, Ambassador Prentiss slapped her own cards away so that they scattered across the surface. This was the ninth time in a row that the younger woman beat her.

"Alright, one more hand." She moved to stack and shuffle the deck but stopped when the chair across from her was scooted back and its occupant stood up. "Where are you going?"

"Well, if you expect me to annihilate you for another hour, I'm going to need snacks." Molly said over her shoulder as she waltzed towards the kitchen.

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth rose as well. "You're not supposed to be walking without your cane!" She grabbed the wooden walking stick that Caleb-the carpenter that lived two houses down from them-had made just for the injured girl. "You'll only do further damage to your leg, and it's not like you have many more to spare!" She shouted the last part down the hall, as she wasn't really in the mood to chase her through the house.

"Really mother?" A voice from the foyer startled her.

The Ambassador jumped and spun around to face her daughter, who was standing with her arms crossed and smirking at her.

"Taunting the handicapped?" Emily tsked and shook her head. "So unbecoming."

Scoffing, Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips. "She started it." She replied, not caring that she sounded all of five years old. "Besides, Molly Prentiss is no more handicapped than you nor I."

She knew her daughter was only teasing-because that was just Emily's way-but instead of reprimanding her for it as she had done so in the past, she simply played along. It had been something she had made a point of doing for the past few months. With Molly convalescing in her home, she got to see Emily more than usual with her weekly visits to see how the younger woman was coping.

Elizabeth hoped that maybe-just _maybe_ -if she made it a comfortable space, she would receive more visits even after Molly fully recovered.

Conceding with a tiny nod Emily chuckled. "Very true." She grinned and accepted the hug her mother approached with. "How are you two holding up?"

"Fine, fine." Elizabeth waved her hand flamboyantly. "We went to the farmer's market this morning and I showed Molly how to pick out the perfect apples and strawberries."

"A vital skill." Emily murmured as they made their way back towards the solarium.

Ignoring the quip, her mother continued. "And when we got home, I taught her how to play poker."

" _Taught_ her?" Prentiss plopped down on the overstuffed chair by the wall of windows and cocked her head. "Why would you need to teach her? Molly knows how to-"

She trailed off when she saw the redhead in question entering the room. With wide eyes, she was motioning behind Elizabeth's back, imploring Emily to stop talking. But it was too late. The Ambassador not only picked up on what her daughter was saying, but she also caught sight of Molly flapping her arms in her peripheral.

"Young lady!" She put on her best tone of reproach. "Were you swindling me?"

Unable to stop herself, Molly snorted. " _Swindling_?" She parroted in almost the exact same voice. "No ma'am, I don't believe I was."

"Well, you told me you didn't know how to play!"

"No I didn't! You just assumed that I didn't know how and I never corrected you on it." Molly argued, sitting in the chair next to Emily and grabbing her hand in lieu of a hug. "You were so damn happy showing me how to squeeze apples and smell strawberries all morning; I didn't want to ruin that."

Slightly embarrassed, the Ambassador crossed her arms and turned to glare out the window. It was her way of pouting, but of course her daughters were unfazed.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked as she repositioned herself to face Emily. "Are you taking the day off?"

Normally, Emily visited on Saturdays or Sundays-providing that she wasn't on a case. It was a rare occurrence to see her in the middle of the day on a Tuesday.

"They got a new Red Panda at the National Zoo." The agent answered motioning in the general direction of DC. "I was thinking you might want to..."

As expected, the sentence had barely left her mouth before Molly was up and hurrying towards the staircase. She called out something about grabbing her coat over her shoulder, but it was muffled by the thick walls she had already disappeared behind.

Elizabeth shook her head and rolled her eyes at the young woman's brazen show of wanting to get out of the house. She didn't know why it surprised her anymore. Every time Emily appeared, Molly was halfway out the door without so much as a goodbye.

"Make sure she rests her leg." She told her daughter who was still chuckling at the redhead's enthusiasm. "She was walking on it all morning at the market after she _conveniently_ left this in the car." She handed the cane to Emily and crossed her arms. "Honestly, the girl is going to end up in the operating room again by Christmas if she keeps this nonsense up."

With a tight smile, Emily bobbed her head up and down as she bit back a comment about her mother's ever present nitpicking. She hated not being given the option to approve her ward's actions. Despite the fact that Molly was a grown adult, the Ambassador wished to treat her like the terrified twelve year old she had first met.

So, instead of pointing out-yet again-that she was being ridiculous, Emily gave her a comforting tilt of the head as she stood back up.

"I'll bring it in myself." She brought the cane closer to her chest to indicate its importance. "I was going to take her to one of the new food trucks in the Mall. Want us to bring you something?" She smirked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head, grimacing at the thought of the potential greasy contraption that could possibly infiltrate her home. "No, thank you." She managed to keep her response polite. "And make sure that Molly doesn't have too much junk. Her nutritionist is coming by tomorrow and he can smell fried cheese from a mile away."

She knew better than to put a complete moratorium on the slop her girls considered food, but she could at least attempt to limit it.

Uneven steps could be heard descending the wooden stairs and a moment later, Molly appeared with a clean shirt and her navy pea coat hanging off her arm. "By Liz!" She shouted, leaving the front door open behind her.

Emily took this as a sign that she was expected to follow her immediately. "I'll pop in when I drop her off." She promised, kissing her mother's cheek before slipping out as well.

Elizabeth watched them go from the front window and let out a tiny sigh.

 _Well._ She thought, wiping her palms over her sweater and looking about the now silent house. _Finally, I can get some work done._

/\\\\\/\\\\\

It was early September, but the intense storms from the week before brought in a cold front that competed with November's dampest of days.

Emily cranked up the heat a bit when they pulled up to the first red light outside of her mother's neighborhood. She glanced over at Molly who was fiddling in her seat with an eager smile. It was obvious that she had news that she could barely keep in, but Prentiss decided to play dumb.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom already?" She fabricated a tone of irritation as she pressed on the accelerator. "Think you can hold it until we get there?"

Ignoring her, Molly lifted her right leg and let it rest on top of the dashboard with a heavy thud. Slowly she inched up the cuff of her jeans, revealing a steel-blue series of metal wires and bars. "Aren't you going to compliment..." She paused for dramatic effect as she gestured the device with Vanna White hands. "...My new leg?"

With a laugh, Emily admired the prosthetic the best she could while operating a motor vehicle. "Oh my, how could I have missed it?" She gushed. "When did it come in?"

Dropping her leg, Molly tried to calculate the endless days in her head. "Last...Monday...I think?" She estimated. "It's about damn time too! I only had to have it refitted five hundred times!" It was more like two times, but after months of using her half-broken prosthetic, she was a bit testy.

"Why does it look like the inside of The Terminator?" Emily asked.

The last leg had been a simple metal mechanism with a ball and socket joint and the typical nuts and bolts. This new one looked as though it had been created in Garcia's greatest fantasy. Wires wove through metal bars like veins through flesh and it almost appeared to glow under the overcast sky.

"Your mom apparently knows someone who knows someone." Molly shrugged, waving her hand haughtily. "It's a prototype invented by some NASA scientist or something. This obviously means I'm ready for space travel."

Laughing at her sister-in-law's faultless logic, Emily pulled onto the interstate that would take them towards DC. Barely six months had passed since they'd apprehended Molly in Colorado. She let herself go through the grieving process while recuperating at the Prentiss Estate. And while it took most people months to go through the five stages, it took her less than a week.

This would have been disconcerting if it had been anyone else, but with Molly it was pretty normal. Even Elizabeth didn't seem bothered by the quick turnaround.

Of course, there were still moments of rage here and there-a broken Ming Vase that once sat proudly in the front entry was the most expensive casualty to show for this. Molly hurled it at her physical therapist when he all but ordered her to stop jogging every morning. She would not go without her five miles. She told the quack that if he thought she was pissed _when_ she was able to do her run, he should see her when she _couldn't_ do it.

The discussion was dropped after that.

A shrill ring filled the car, interrupting the calm they had settled into. Emily, at first happy to see Aaron's goofy grin taking over the screen, cringed when she noted that he was calling from his office phone. He only used that line for work related conversations, while his cell was for their private-and altogether more enjoyable-conversations.

"I take it that's not a booty call." Molly must have read her expression. She was spending too much time with the team-especially Garcia given that she had just uttered the phrase _'Booty Call'_.

Emily gave her a tight smile and held her phone to her ear. "Hey."

 _"Have you already picked Molly up?"_ Aaron's stern voice came through.

"Uh-huh." Prentiss nibbled on her bottom lip and glanced over her shoulder to switch lanes. She figured it would be best to go ahead and get off at the next exit considering that she was probably going to have to turn around.

He was probably only asking her out of courtesy, because regardless of her status, she would need to come in if it were a case. Her impromptu afternoon off was only granted because they were having a slow day at the office. She must have jinxed them when she noted that earlier in the day when asking Aaron if she could take off. He of course had no problem with it, but when they were at Quantico he was her boss. And she still had to ask for his permission there.

That of course did _not_ apply when they got home.

 _"We have a case."_ He at least sounded a bit regretful. _"In Maine-eight victims so far."_

Emily cursed and nodded, despite him not being able to see her. "Okay, I just need to drop her back off and I'll be there."

"No, no, no!" Molly's pleas almost muffled Hotch's reply.

 _"If you're close, just bring her in with you."_ He offered. _"It won't be the end of the world if we have to delay takeoff by an hour."_

They weren't close per say, but Prentiss hated the idea of dropping Molly off at that boring house again. "Okay." She bobbed her head. "If anything, she can hang out with Garcia for a bit. I can have one of mother's drivers come pick her up later."

Liking what she heard from her side of the conversation, Molly simpered and relaxed back into her seat.

She loved herself a Red Panda, but she would choose a day at Quantico over just about anything else.

/\\\\\/\\\\\

JJ was reviewing the files with tired eyes and a heavy heart.

Two children, an elderly couple, a blind woman, and three handicapped teenagers.

It was clear what this creep's victim type was right off the bat. And as she did with every one of their Unsub's, she tried-for just a moment-to figure out how someone could be so cruel.

How was this still shocking to her?

Shaking her head, she tightened her jaw and folded her fingers beneath her chin. _No._ She scolded herself. _Be shocked. Don't let this be a common standard for you._ Because the moment she would allow her mind to function like that-like a machine-was the moment she would need to leave this job.

Three sharp knocks on her metal doorframe told her that Hotch was there. Hotch had three sharp knocks. Emily's was one or two soft taps on the door itself-so as not to startle her-and Reid was usually speaking before was even at the entrance. Garcia took a different approach each time; whether it be the smell of fresh baked cookies wafting through the door way or the jingle of ten metal bracelets waving about as she did jazz hands around the frame, she preferred a grand entrance.

Rossi and Morgan just walked in. It wasn't that they were rude. Rossi was oblivious to such customs and Derek grew up with sisters-so he was more than likely fed up with the sanctity of a woman's private space. But JJ didn't care. They were her family, so they could come in with a burning bag of trash and she'd be there to welcome them and help find an extinguisher.

"Em...Prentiss is on her way." Hotch slipped, as he did more than five times a day. Everyone on the team knew about the dark haired couple but they rarely spoke of it during their long work days.

It was just one of those inevitable things that finally happened. Like the yearly geese migration or the first bloom of the Spring. It's beautiful and comforting, but it's better to enjoy it in silence.

"I hope we didn't ruin her day too much." JJ sighed as she stood from her seat and followed Hotch out into the hall. "I know she's wanted to get over there for the past few weeks."

The Unit Chief nodded, giving a small wave to a passing agent as they passed them on the ramp. "She's okay." He assured her, pausing outside of his door. "Molly's coming in with her. She's probably just happy to be out of the house for a little while."

"Why?" Morgan's voice came from his desk, where he'd learned to eavesdrop on even the quietest of conversations. "That place has an indoor pool, a twenty-four hour pastry chef, _and_ a couple of lovely maids. I don't think I'd ever leave."

He had only been in The Ambassador's home for about ten minutes when dropping off some casseroles with Penelope, but he'd scoped it out to the best of his ability. He had always been curious about the life Prentiss came from. And the large portrait in the entry-the one of a five year old Emily with no front teeth wearing a puffy blue dress-gave him all of the insight he needed.

"Well, I'm sure that even a Casanova like Molly gets sick of looking at the lovelies." JJ rolled her eyes at the ever-so-charming Derek. "Besides, from what I hear, Ambassador Prentiss has a habit of hovering. And if she drove Emily crazy, can you imagine the affect she has on a reclusive assassin?"

Morgan conceded to her point with a low whistle and shake of the head. He was smart enough to refrain from saying anything else on the subject. Hotch's glare was still somewhat effective for him.

"Oh, who is that lovely little Cinnamon Stick?" Penelope's voice rang out across the bullpen, startling the trio.

The Tech Analyst had her unique monikers for everyone on their team, but she extended this ritual to Molly over the past few months. And her labels consisted mainly of adjectives for her fiery hair or her lean stature. _Cinnamon Stick_ was a new variation of the two.

To her credit, Molly always summoned up a heartfelt smile for the bubbly blonde. She was of course happy to see her, as she was everyone in the BAU, but it was difficult to match Garcia's enthusiasm.

"Welcome back." JJ threw Emily an apologetic smile as she approached them on the walkway.

The brunette pulled a face and shook her head. "Eh, it's fine." She glanced over at her sister-in-law who was trying to keep up with whatever story Penelope was telling her in rapid pace. "It was too cold to go to the zoo anyway."

Despite the tiny white lie, Emily couldn't really say that she was disappointed about the change of plans. She had been to the zoo at least twenty times over the past year with Jack and Aaron and she was fine with missing out on this particular outing. The whole point was to get Molly out of the house.

Out of the tiny prison sentence that was living with Ambassador Prentiss.

And judging by the young woman's relaxed posture and genuine laughs, it was clear that this was doing the trick just fine.

/\\\\\/\\\\\

Two rows of four lined the front screen horizontally.

Eight photos of eight people-the same photos that had been run in the local newspaper with their respective obituaries.

JJ put them in order from youngest to oldest rather than the sequence of who was killed first. For some reason it was more meaningful this way. It really showed how this evil, _evil_ creature's tastes were broad. No one was safe from him.

As soon as everyone was seated-Garcia came in last after logging Molly into one of her computers to play games-she moved aside to give them all a clear view of the display.

"These are the victims?" Derek asked what they all hoped was a rhetorical question after scanning all eight faces. He was just as stunned as the others. Sure, they dealt with Unsubs who were all over the map when it came to victimology, but this was something else altogether.

Though the variations in age, gender, and race were definitely off-putting, it was what they saw beyond the standard features.

JJ, not wanting to prolong the inevitable, nodded and zoomed in on the first picture. A freckled faced little boy with a blonde bowl cut and crooked grin dominated the screen. "Mattie Burroughs was our first victim." She tried not to notice the similarities to Henry. But it was as plain as day. "He was found on the shore behind his house the day after Christmas. Nine years old, strangled to death. His mom died when he was three and he was brought up by a single dad. He was the primary suspect right away and they locked him up in the local jail until two weeks later when..."

Next she went to the two last photos of the second line. With eyes as joyous as the smiles on their faces, the elderly pair was definitely a beautiful sight. But the agents had learned long ago not to grow too attached to anyone who appeared on that screen.

"Charlotte and Yancey Preble were found a mile down the shore."

"They look so sweet." Garcia's doleful words reflected what they all saw in the couple.

They could have been any of their grandparents. Happy and content, retiring on a little island that was supposed to be their safe haven.

"Yancey fought in World War Two as well as Korea and Vietnam." JJ bit her lip. "He had defensive wounds on his hands and feet."

Morgan swallowed and bobbed his head. "Went out like he lived." He didn't need to elaborate. It was obvious how Sergeant Yancey Preble lived. He was a fighter until the end.

Feeling her calm start to slip, JJ tried to hurry through the next five individuals while still giving them the respect they deserved.

Emma Hartsfield-female, early thirties, tall and thin, blind-was the sister of the town's priest. She was found in the confessional booth three Saturday's after the Preble's were laid to rest. She was also strangled, telling the town authorities that this was the same offender, but unlike the others, she'd been raped. Pre and Post-Mortem.

The day after Emma, there was Kendall Washington-female, eleven years old. Her younger brother found her in the fort they'd built in the woods behind their house. It was determined that she couldn't have been dead for more than an hour when the police arrived. They were all relieved to hear that she only shared cause of death with Emma and the others. She had not been assaulted.

That was when Chief Garnett contacted the FBI. He had reached the end of the road and it was time for their tiny town to get help from outside sources.

JJ was reviewing the case and considering following up with Garnett as soon as they finished looking into the killings in Jacksonville; but the timeline changed as soon as she checked her messages after lunch.

On Swan's Island, there was only one school. It went from Kindergarten to Twelfth Grade but it only had about two hundred students in all.

Three of the two hundred were enrolled in the Special Needs Class. This tiny group-aged between fifteen and seventeen-didn't need to get to the school until about eleven because they had their respective physical therapies first thing every morning. A van would meet at the town clinic to pick the trio up and delivered them to their teacher- Miss. Graham.

But that morning, the van didn't arrive. When it was nearly a quarter till noon, Miss. Graham called the clinic-the driver, Hank, was seventy and didn't believe in mobile phones. The secretary ensured her that the kids were picked up right on schedule and left nearly an hour before.

Before anything else could be done, Garnett arrived at the school, letting Miss. Graham know that the Hank's van had been stolen in the middle of the night, but they were sending someone out to pick up the teens.

The Chief paled when Miss. Graham told him about her phone call to the clinic. He had just assumed the children were stranded. In this town, one could drive anywhere faster than dialing a phone, so calls weren't always customary. But if he'd known, he would have sent his men out to find the van instead.

Because it was the van that had picked the kids up. It was the van that drove out of the parking lot. It was the van that disappeared down the old bumpy road that led towards the school and pretty much everything else on the island.

It was the van that was found an hour later parked outside of Hank's house.

Thinking he was beginning to lose his mind, the old man hurried out to his driveway, scratching the back of his head. His neighbor-the nosy woman with three ferrets and a tortoise-was on her front porch before the first scream tapered off.

An ambulance came for Hank-acute shock and minor cardiac events-while the coroner retrieved the three bodies from the van.

Photos of the latest victims came up on the screen. A male, age fifteen, and two females ages sixteen and seventeen. All three were in wheelchairs, but they appeared very happy in their pictures.

"Joey Keen had Cerebral Palsy." JJ sighed, barely glancing at her notes. The information had engrained itself in her brain over the last hour. "Alyssa Wilks, Muscular Dystrophy, and Katelyn Oglesby had two prosthetic legs and severe developmental delays."

 _'The mental age of a five year old.'_ The report had said. She was in an accident when she was a child-the same one she lost her legs in-and lost air flow to her brain for nearly twenty minutes. It was a miracle that she had even survived.

"So he preys on the weak." Morgan growled not letting the typical contemplative silence settle over the room. "It's not enough to go after kids and the elderly. He takes out anyone who can't fight back."

As a general rule, they were advised to keep clear heads when profiling serial killers. But as it usually turned out, that was impossible. This guy was the scum of the earth and they were more than ready to find him.

Even Spencer had foregone the need to point out facts and statistics that sometimes set him up as some sort of a Devil's Advocate. He wouldn't let that mistake be made today. This Unsub was on his own. There wasn't enough data in the world to validate these heinous acts. All murder was wrong. But to kill someone like Joey-Joey with a fire engine red wheelchair and a Pokémon t-shirt-it took a whole other kind of evil.

"All of these victims are local, yes?" Rossi clarified, waiting for JJ's nod before continuing. "Are they thinking that the Unsub is also from the area?"

With a hesitant shrug the liaison tried to recall the folder full of notes that Garnett had sent to her. "They don't want to assume at this point." She said, not fully agreeing with that plan. "With such a small town, they're trying to avoid causing a panic or any kind of witch hunt."

Justin Burroughs, Mattie's father, had been renounced by childhood friends and family the instant he fell under suspicion. Though he hadn't moved away from the island, as most may have done, he was still struggling to mend those relationships. It was understandable why the Chief was hesitant to point fingers at anyone else.

He'd leave that to the FBI.

"Okay, we don't have a lot of time to spare." Hotch's gaze didn't lift from his tablet when he spoke, but he still commanded the room. "Wheels up in twenty."

The group dispersed, each heading to their respective spaces to retrieve their go-bags and other supplies.

Emily was greeted by Molly as soon as she stepped out of the conference room. "Hey." She chuckled and glanced over the redhead's shoulder. "Did you ditch Garcia already?"

"She's in the bathroom." Molly pointed in the general direction of the facilities. "Are you guys leaving now?" She lifted her hand to receive the high-five Derek was bringing her way, but didn't look away from her sister-in-law.

Prentiss took note of her pinched brow and steely eyes. It was strange. Molly never really seemed upset when they left. She wasn't one to depend on the company of others so it didn't bother her to see them go. Of course, she worried for her new group of friends-their jobs weren't what one would consider innoxious-but she didn't let these concerns show.

She camouflaged better than the best Navy Seals.

"Yeah." Emily said after a beat. "Will you be okay here? Penelope can take you home." She reminded her, moving aside so that Aaron and Dave could come out onto the walkway as well.

Molly's eyes darted over her shoulder for a brief second. She made it seem as though she was simply considering the question. But it wasn't a difficult one to answer. It was practically rhetorical.

"Uh...Oh yeah. Of course." She shrugged, waving her hand about. "I'm sure we can still go to the Food Trucks. I'll get Liz one of those mac and cheese stuffed burritos or something. That will add a bit of merriment to the night."

The two laughed and simultaneously glanced out over the bullpen. Morgan and Reid were already loaded up with their bags and JJ was wandering over to them with Garcia at her side. It appeared that she was giving the analyst a list of what they needed to be looked into while they were en route to Maine.

Clearing her throat, Molly reached out and grasped Prentiss' arm. "Good luck Em. Try to stay out of trouble." She teased before turning head towards the others so that she could pass the same sentiment on to them.

"That was weird." Dave's voice came from over her shoulder.

Emily wasn't really surprised that he didn't go into his office after leaving the briefing. Not when there was a conversation going on right within earshot. He was like one of the old Russian hens who sat on the front porches lining the neighborhood to near their house when she was young. They were constantly gibbering back and forth and gossiping about anything with a pulse.

Only Rossi didn't use the intel he gathered for evil. He simply kept his eyes and ears open to ensure that all of his younger teammates were doing alright.

Prentiss gave him a tight smile and shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, it's Molly." She said in way of explanation.

Molly was weird. Molly didn't have one particular band of emotions to choose from. She decided day-to-day what she would feel and how she would respond to those feelings. One day, she'd be a bundle of nerves and rage, reacting to every little hindrance with the temper of a Wolverine. And the next day, she'd be mellow-almost as though she'd downed a bottle of Elizabeth's Xanax.

So today, she was distracted.

Rossi remained where he was. He obviously didn't buy into her apathy about the whole scene he'd just witnessed, but he decided to take Emily's lead and let it go. Worrying about Molly Prentiss' erratic conduct would only lead to an ulcer.

"We should get a move on." He winked at the lovely brunette before ducking into his office.

Though he couldn't see her anymore, Emily nodded as she turned to gaze back towards the bullpen.

Reid was showing flipping through one of his many, _many_ , resource books and talking to Molly a mile a minute. For her part, the redhead nodded along and at least feigned interest. She seemed content-happy even.

 _Emily_. She scolded herself with a shake of the head. _Maybe it's time that you look into raiding Elizabeth's medicine cabinet._

With a self-deprecating smile, Prentiss trotted down the steps and wandered over to the desks to get ready as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just so y'all know, in this universe (and probably most of the ones I have) Haley is alive. For the sake of the story, I'd rather her be around and having Jack rather than Hotch constantly having to leave him with Jessica. With the way these stories go, I have no way to add mini-Hotch into them, so let's pretend his mom is alive and Foyet was arrested before he killed her. I like Haley for the most part, so I won't write her as villain, if there ever is a time where I write her! As of now, she is merely mentioned in passing.**

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

They had taken to holding one another's hand on the jet. It was what they considered to be their last act as a couple before the harsh charade of professionalism began.

The team rarely commented on the tiny display of affection. Every once in a while Derek would say something along the lines of, _"Em, you'll need **both** of your hands"_ When he would hand her his laptop across the aisle. Or once or twice, Rossi would take the seat next to Aaron to see what they would say or do about it.

Of course, every time, the startled-and almost sad-look that crossed Prentiss' face did more to move the plucky Italian than Hotch's fierce glower. It took quite a bit to upset the unflappable Emily Prentiss, but when it rarely happened, the men in her life did everything they could to rectify it.

Aaron's strong fingers wrapped around her own did wonders for her as they flew to Maine.

They both hated cases that involved children. It hit them personally what with Jack being in their lives. During their relationship, the precocious seven year old had taken to Emily like a duck to water. He called her his "Emmy"-or when he was hyped up on the sugar and soda she spoiled him with, "Emmy-Bemmy-Bo-Wemmy". She was positive that she would never love another child more than her sweet Jack-Attack.

But then there was Henry. Her gorgeous best friend's even more gorgeous little boy. The towheaded preschooler was nearly a carbon copy of Mattie Burroughs.

Without a word, Hotch removed the autopsy and crime scene photos of the boy from JJ's file when she sat across from them on the jet. She gave him and appreciative smile and took his lead on keeping the whole exchange silent-even though everyone had watched it happen.

She would have sucked it up, and flipped through the pictures, all the while pretending the sweet young face looked nothing like her boy. And she would have bit back the tears when that plan would have inevitably failed. She was a mother, and she was allowed to be weak from time to time.

Hotch made it easy for her though.

It wasn't a weakness if your boss didn't give you a choice in the matter.

They were barely in the air for five minutes when the laptop in front of Derek let out a shrill ring. "That was fast Mama." He said, pulling Garcia up on video chat and turning her to face the rest of the team.

Penelope gaped at the group, startled. It was as though they had called her and caught her off guard. "Um...we have a...Um...Well..." She stammered, glancing down at her desk and tapping her fingers against the surface.

"Pen, what's going on?" JJ's tone held a hint of amusement at the quirky analyst's display.

Less amused at the prolonged silence, Aaron spoke up as well. "Did you find something Garcia?" He demanded, looking back to his file. He had a lot of victimology to go over during their short flight.

"Sir, we have a problem." Penelope was quick to speak after his commanding tone snapped her out of her stupor. "A tiny...well kind of big...a tiny-big problem."

"With the case?" Reid peaked over JJ and Morgan's seats.

"No...Nope."

"What's going on Baby Girl?"

"Em," Garcia addressed the brunette, who instantly sat up. "Please don't be mad."

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

Elizabeth stormed out of her study and stomped down the stairs. "Gregory!" She called to the afternoon chauffer. "Get the car ready!"

After her deafening shouts, she held her cellphone back to her ear. "Don't worry Emily, if she's in Virginia, I'll track her down." She promised. "I'll call you when I find her!" She hung up and slipped the phone into her purse before heading out the door that Gregory had just barely opened for her.

Yes, she wasn't the great investigator that her daughter was, but people often forgot that she _raised_ that daughter. Though on most days, it was from afar or with the help of a full staff, but at the end of the day, Emily Prentiss was her girl. Her spitfire.

She had tracked the rambunctious teen down in countries they had only been in for two days. One time, she found her outside of a hostel four hundred miles from the French Chateau. And that was before they days of Google Earth and cell phone tracking. With nothing more than mother's instinct and an outdated map of France, she found the fourteen year old, smacked whatever illegal drug she had just purchased out of her hand, and shoved her into their limo with more strength than even she knew she'd possessed.

When it came to her children, Elizabeth Prentiss was a force to be reckoned with.

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

Swan's Island had a very small airport that mostly catered to tiny puddle-jumpers and cargo planes. The FBI jet looked positively massive as it awkwardly landed in the tiny space provided.

The tension as they disembarked was heavy.

With the stress of the case, the last thing they needed was a missing ex-assassin. Again. Because the last time Molly vanished, nearly a dozen former mobsters began to appear across the country sans limbs.

Emily's teammates assured her that her sister-in-law had probably just wandered off to explore Quantico's massive campus. She had always been curious about the facility and it made sense for her to take it upon herself to take an unauthorized tour.

But they didn't believe their own words. The gut feeling-a mixture between the fear of an Unsub and the fear _for_ a victim-that they associated with Molly Prentiss was bubbling up. This dread wasn't for the woman herself, but for those who might get in her way. If she was on one of her self-appointed missions, then she wasn't going to be back until it was complete.

"You go to the station with JJ and start the profile." Aaron ordered quietly as they approached the SUVs at the end of the tarmac. "Keep your phone on and let me know the instant you hear something."

Prentiss nodded and shoved her hands in her pockets. Initially, she was going to interview Hank-the van driver-with Morgan. After nearly an hour and a half of her constant fidgeting in her seat must have prompted the Unit Chief to have Reid take her place. Of course, when it came down to it, she would have done her job without a hitch-she did it the last time Molly went AWOL-but it wouldn't have been good for her mind.

Hotch tried to give her a break from compartmentalizing when he could.

Knowing that she needed the tiny bit of comfort, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head before turning to climb into the driver's seat of his and Rossi's car.

With a shaky breath, Emily watched them pull away. JJ was next to her, quiet and calming as she always was-despite the apprehension she'd been feeling all day from the case. It was incredible how soothing the blonde could be regardless of the situation.

"Ready?" She asked, looking to Prentiss with a soft smile and waited for her to nod before moving to their own SUV.

Emily would drive, as she always did. Having her relinquish that one tiny bit of control could have pushed her over the edge and JJ wouldn't do that to her. She wasn't impaired physically or mentally, so it wasn't a matter of safety. Even at her worse, Prentiss knew better than to get behind the wheel if there was any chance of her not being able to operate to the best of her ability.

On the few family road trips they had been able to take over the past couple of years, when Henry would get too fussy, she'd put in his favorite CD. She had burned the twenty-nine songs onto the disc when he was only a few months old and it never failed to mollify him.

Today, she took a similar approach with her friend. But rather than the soft ballads about twinkling stars and farmers, she knew Emily Prentiss preferred the likes of Fleetwood Mac.

Attaching her phone to the cable coming from the car's stereo, JJ flipped on _Rumours_ and relaxed into her seat without saying a word.

Prentiss couldn't help but tighten her mouth into a small smirk when Stevie Nicks' voice began to flow through the speakers. Taking JJ's lead, she didn't comment on the obvious music choice. Instead she turned up the volume a couple of notches and rolled down her window to let the crisp Maine breeze flow in.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad working with a bunch of profilers.

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

"It appears that Hank Greer has Hypertensive Retinopathy in his left eye." Spencer mused, flipping through the thick file in his lap. "That can severely impair vision, why would they have allowed him to drive a van full of kids?"

"Why would they have let him drive at _all_?" Derek added, keeping one eye on the mailboxes they passed to find Hank's house number.

The island was small, but it was still hard to navigate with its labyrinth of roads and disorganized neighborhoods. Homes were scattered about between pharmacies and bars, making it very difficult to locate the residence.

"That kind of makes him an unreliable witness." Reid winced, hating to state what they were both thinking. "I mean, it doesn't necessarily put him in the suspect pool, but his statement won't hold up in court."

Morgan nodded. "Well, if nothing else we can get him off the road after all of this." He pulled into the dirt driveway with a fish mailbox at the end of it.

Neither of them mentioned what went through their minds this time.

 _There aren't any kids left to drive now._

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

Swan's Island didn't really have a police station. It was more like two double-wide trailer in the middle of a rocky field. A small wooden walkway connected the two structures in an attempt to make them one.

It didn't work.

There were two officers on duty when JJ and Emily arrived. Andrew and Gilligan-they waved the women off when they asked for their last names-were nice kids with ill-fitted uniforms and eager eyes. Their combined age still put them below Hotch, but they did what they could to appear professional and-for lack of a better word-manly.

"We decided to give you folks the second office." Andrew obviously deepened his voice as he gestured the adjacent "office"-aka, the other trailer.

Prentiss smothered her smirk and ducked her head as JJ thanked the young man. It was cute that he made it sound like it had been _his_ decision to _allow_ them to have the space. Garnett had told them about the arrangements that had been made for them prior to their departure, so this wasn't news to them. But they let the kids continue with their act.

For God's sake, the only weapons on their belts were expandable batons and single cans of mace. And Emily doubted that it was from a lack of funds. These guys could have been pictured next to "trigger-happy" in the dictionary.

"Will your Chief be joining us?" JJ asked. She too kept her face stoic even though it was hard to take either of them seriously. Gilligan had a ginger-colored strip of peach fuzz on his upper lip-a sad attempt at a mustache that was only visible because his skin was _so_ pale. Andrew on the other hand had no trouble whatsoever in the facial hair department. In fact, it looked as though he had not been introduced to the fine art of shaving.

He was in serious danger of cultivating a pretty vile neckbeard.

"He just ran out to pick his kid up from soccer practice." Andrew answered her, placing his hand on his mace as though he was ready to use it. The agents would have been concerned if they weren't positive that they could destroy him before he even took the safety off of the tiny canister. "His wife's hair appointment ran to long, so she couldn't make it."

Emily bit her lower lip and raised her eyebrows. "Great, well let him know where to find us?" Her voice went up at the end, to give it the characteristic of a question, but it was clear to all that this was an order.

The boys nodded and watched the agents exit with poorly concealed awe.

It was one thing for the small town officers to encounter the FBI, but it was a completely different thing for them to be this attractive. If Emily were in a better mood, she would have 'accidentally' dropped her pen just so that she could bend over in front of the practically pre-pubescent cops.

But she refrained today. Because half of her mind was occupied by Molly.

Stupid, _stupid_ Molly.

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

Hank was a tall and haggard man with gray curls winding around the sides of his head but avoiding the top to reveal a shiny pink scalp. His house, though fairly large and well built, had obviously seen better days.

Without him saying it outright, Morgan and Reid deduced that he'd been a widower for at least a decade and it was quite clear that his wife had been the caretaker of the estate. Weeds took over the front lawn and the porch and the hedges were overgrown with knotweeds sprouting from them and clinging to the side of the slate gray side paneling.

Inside wasn't much better. It wasn't unsanitary, just cluttered. Newspapers were stacked on every surface-from what Spencer could see, the oldest one dated back to 1976-and six tiny dogs were constantly underfoot.

Derek practically sprinted down the front steps and towards the SUV. He didn't have a problem with canines per say, but Chihuahuas-or whatever the hell those things were-did not make his top ten list of species that contributed to society. In fact, after that interview, he decided that they were definitely the weakest link in the animal kingdom.

Polite as usual, Spencer hung back, thanking Hank and giving him their cards just in case he could help them further in the investigation.

"I feel like I'm covered in fleas!" Was the first thing Morgan said once they were both inside the vehicle. He shook his arms out and rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to wipe away the imaginary insects.

Pursing his lips, Reid tilted his head. "That would be unlikely this time of year." He noted with a furrowed brow. "Fleas and other parasites aren't usually common in the latter part of the year, especially in the north. On top of that, with this being an island with a much colder climate than what would be found on the mainland, I doubt that there would be a huge issue with fleas even in the height of summer."

The speech was background noise as Morgan navigated back onto the main road. It was better to just let the young genius wear himself out rather than attempt to stop him mid-lecture. After a few minutes-when they were less than two miles from the station-he had to change his strategy.

"Reid, do you see that?" He hit the brakes and pointed across the road towards a small row of shops. There were a couple of people making their way up and down the sidewalk with shopping bags in hand.

For a moment, Spencer was clueless. Mostly, he was disoriented after being cut off unexpectedly. But with a couple of blinks to assist in his regrouping, he was able to focus on the area indicated.

Leaning against the wall just outside of the drugstore's entrance was a redhead wearing a dark blue coat and a cream colored beret. Despite the frigid temperature, she seemed to be enjoying a strawberry ice cream cone.

"Should we call Emily?" Reid asked, placing his fingers over the red buckle that would release his seatbelt. He figured that it would be risky to wait for Prentiss to get out there to retrieve her sister-in-law, but he still felt compelled to inquire.

Morgan confirmed his thoughts with a firm shake of the head. "No, she'll probably be in Canada by the time we dial." He was exaggerating, but he wasn't too far off. Molly Prentiss, on top of being a world class assassin, was an expert in evasion. She could hijack any vehicle with nothing more than spit and concentration.

It was beyond them why she was on Swan's Island, but it didn't take Reid's IQ to know that her presence was not a good thing.

Before they could reach for their handles, Molly spotted them. But rather than fleeing-as they expected her to do-she simply waved and pushed herself off of the wall to begin walking over to them.

It looked as though she had been expecting them. She wasn't alarmed or panicked. Her face and posture were relaxed as she checked both ways before crossing the road.

Derek rolled down the window as soon as she was within earshot. "What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, earning a puzzled pout from the woman. "You have Emily worried out of her mind!"

"I left my phone at home." Molly explained, wiggling the handle of the back door until he unlocked it. She climbed in and removed her hat with a small huff. "I thought she would just figure out I was coming up."

" _Why_ would she have figured that?"

"I mean, profiler..." She shrugged and sniffed. "Sorry, I guess I should have found a payphone or something."

"Yeah, that would have been smart." Morgan bobbed his head and slammed the car back into 'drive'. "But not contacting us isn't the dumbest thing you did today!"

Molly snorted and buckled her seat belt. "You've got that right, I should have gotten the cookie dough." She murmured, glaring at the half-eaten cone in her gloved hand. "This is basically sorbet. There aren't even bits of strawberry in-"

"I'm not talking about your damn ice cream!"

"But while we're on it, did you get it nearby or-?"

"Reid!"

"Sorry."

Rolling her eyes, Molly laid her head back against the seat and sighed. "Okay, I shouldn't have come up here without asking." She admitted. "But I thought it would be better to just do it that way. Emily gets _really_ pissed when I don't follow her orders."

She had been really good about it lately. While healing from her surgery and other various injuries, Molly was the perfect patient for both Elizabeth and Emily. Yes, she bitched and moaned to her heart's content, but it was mostly light-hearted. It would have made her convalescence much worse if she fought them tooth and nail the whole time.

But hell, she was walking just fine! And with a sick bastard was roaming about, killing the weak, how was she supposed to stay put?

"How did you get out here?" Spencer asked, hoping to head Morgan off before he continued his tirade. Emily was probably going to freak out on her as well, so it was best to not totally overwhelm her.

"The jet." She responded as though it should have been obvious.

"You weren't on the jet." Derek pointed out. He had used the restroom and the kitchenette's curtain was wide open the whole flight. There was nowhere for her to hide.

"Yeah, I was in the cockpit."

"Cockpit?" Spencer's brow furrowed. "The pilots wouldn't have let you ride up there. Not without telling Hotch at least."

"The pilots weren't there." Molly huffed.

It only took a moment for the men to figure out what she was implying.

The flight didn't seem to be any different from the usual ones. They had just chalked the bumpy landing up to the tiny runway. It didn't occur to them that an assassin without so much as a valid driver's license had been behind the wheel.

"Son of a bitch." Derek muttered, shaking his head and silently thanking God that they weren't dead.

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**

Penelope hung up her phone and let out the tiny giggle she'd been holding in throughout the three minute conversation with Morgan.

Yes. What Molly did was dumb and very, _very_ dangerous, but it was kind of funny.

Maybe it was the immense relief at finding out that the redhead was safe and not on another choppy-choppy spree across the Midwest-or perhaps it was the nine espressos she'd chugged after losing said redhead-but she couldn't help but let the giggle turn into full on laughter.

"Oh...Emily is going to freak out." She breathed, trailing off and letting her smile drop when something occurred to her. "She's just going to kill her." She swallowed, and winced as she began to imagine the fury that she had so rarely seen Agent Prentiss display. "Gee-whiz, she's going to beat her to death with her own leg."

 **/\\\\\/\\\\\**


End file.
